


I Am [REDACTED]

by 530_and_some_fandoms



Series: those blind hours [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Explosions, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hydra (Marvel), MC redemption, Medical Inaccuracies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rated for language and violence, Therapy, this kid needs some therapy honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/530_and_some_fandoms/pseuds/530_and_some_fandoms
Summary: All Cori wanted was to get through her court trial and be well on her way to becoming a normal teenager. Or as normal as she could be. But when Hydra begins to interfere with her life and the safety of other people, Cori has no choice but to reevaluate herself to keep from falling in too deep.
Relationships: Pepper Potts & Original Female Character, Peter Parker & Original Female Character, Tony Stark & Original Female Character
Series: those blind hours [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835776
Kudos: 2





	1. Part One: The Court

**Guilt**

I would pay much more than I can ever afford  
To undue the harm I have done.  
Maybe God makes us bad at first  
So we'll be better in the long run.

If I could only have done what now makes sense,  
And rewrite my own history book;  
I'd use the advantage I was than denied-  
The gift of a backward look.

The one who committed these foolish deeds,  
Wasn't me, but someone else in my body.  
Now I hope I'm more mature and enlightened  
And a little less morally shoddy.

You may have been hurt by the venom I've uttered  
By the sting of my black poison tongue.  
If I only knew then how I would feel  
On the day I was no longer young.

Hurt might you have been by my words  
But not nearly so much as I.  
In your world, they may have long ago faded;  
But in mine, they will never die.

Time never gives us a second chance.  
It does, but it's no quite the same.  
Time can change your heart and your will,  
But it can never undo your shame.

**Jon Yttri**

**I Am [REDACTED]**

**Part One**

**The Court**

**2/6/21**

**Updates Saturdays**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a series. Please read the first work before reading this one.


	2. I

_I walked for miles in the snow and ice deep in Siberia until I came upon a small shed of a house, smoke billowing from its small chimney. It was quaint and hidden, the perfect spot for a traitorous agent to hide. This agent had worked in a different base than the one I called home, so I was dressed in a coat and snow pants with a scarf wrapped around my face. Snow caused my eyelashes to crust together and my head, feet, and fingers were slowly freezing. I was almost glad to see the small house._

_I approached the door and knocked._

_“Who’s there?” a man’s voice shouted in thick Russian._

_“Please sir, I’m lost,” my voice was far more pitiful that I liked it to be, but I needed to get inside this house._

_I heard a pair of wary footsteps walk towards the door._

_“How do I know you are not after me,” The man shouted back._

_I thought it appropriate to give a small sob. I was nine, and they had taught me to use other people’s opinions of me to my advantage. ._

_“Please. It is so cold,” I cried. The footsteps approached the door a little more, and I heard many locks being slowly opened. This man was more paranoid than anyone I had ever come in contact with, but he certainly had a right to be, I suppose. He was ex-Hydra._

_The door slowly swung in, and I rushed in away from the cold. It was certainly warmer in here that it was out there. I turned back to face the man._

_He was intimidating differently than I had ever seen. He was shorter for a man, probably inches shorter than average, but his large beard and twisted expression seemed to take away from what made him more approachable. That, and his biceps were larger than my head._

_“Thank you, sir,” I breathed, unwrapping the scarf from my face and taking my hat off. His face softened slightly. Whatever this man expected, I doubted it was a lost and cold nine-year-old._

_“What is your name, little one? Would you like something to eat? Some tea?”_

_I nodded, keeping up the charade as long as I could. Also, I was cold and hungry, that part I didn’t have to fake. Some tea would be nice._

_“I’m Mariya,” I said. The man grunted as he put a kettle on the stove. I took the time to look around the house. It was small, as the outside hinted at, and sparsely decorated with two windows, and a bedroom off to the side._

_“What is your name sir?” I asked as he sat down. The man shrugged._

_“I have been on my own so long I have forgotten,” I wrinkled my nose at that, playing the part._

_“You can’t forget your name!”_

_“But I have, Mariya,” the man looked at me curiously. As if he saw something more than who I was presenting. I decided this was my chance._

_“What do you know about Hydra, sir?” I saw a bit of fear in his eyes and heard him reach in his pocket for a gun hidden there. Other than that, however, he showed no emotion toward what I just said._

_“I know nothing of it,” he said nonchalantly. But he did._

_“Are you sure? You must have read about it in school!” I said. I had to keep up the act._

_“School was a long while ago, little one. If I don’t remember my name, I don’t remember anything as unimportant as school,”_

_“School isn’t unimportant,”_

_“The real world is the greatest teacher. My decisions are the reason I live out here,” I nodded._

_“Like Hydra?”_

_“I did not work at Hydra,” the man said. I heard his hand tighten around the gun in his pocket. Suddenly, the kettle whistled. He sighed and got up to take it off the stove. I was thankful. My hands were still chilly under the patchwork mittens I wore._

_After a couple of minutes of silence, the man with no name handed me a steaming cup of tea. I gingerly blew on it before taking a wary sip. I didn’t smell any poison on it, and had watched him prepare the cups, so I assumed it was safe. Besides, I didn’t let him add anything to my tea that he didn’t add to his._

_The tea was good and warmed me from the inside out. I didn’t get any sugar, so it wasn’t sweet, but that was fine. From my experiences with tea, any sugar added made the tea too sweet for my liking. The man with no name sat down on the opposite side of the table, sipping his own cup of tea. Both of his hands were visible, so I assumed this was as good a time as any._

_“They need you to come back,”_

_“Who?” The intense fear was back in his eyes as he set his tea down._

_“Hydra,” the man reached down for his pocket gun, but I stopped him before his hand could reach under the table. His mouth fell open, but no words came out._

_“And I am allowed to use brute force if necessary,” The man laughed._

_“What can a strange little girl do to me?” I raised a brow._

_“You would be surprised. Ever hear of The Storm?” the man nodded, realization lighting his eyes._

_“It was sent after you,”_

_The man with no name could not be convinced. I left his body to grow cold in the tiny shed of his house. But I drank the rest of the tea and took what little food there was before I left. There was no sense wasting food on the dead after all._

  


* * *

Regaining memories didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but the headaches before and after were still a bitch to deal with. Strawberry cobbler for breakfast and lunch on those days probably wasn’t the best idea, but damn if it didn’t help the ache a bit.

Really, dreams hurt more than memories, in very different ways. Memories hurt me physically and mentally. Dreams were terrifying and left me sleepless. 

Dreams were technically the reason the cobbler I ate existed, actually. Along with half the baked goods in this entire Tower. I was thankful Tony, Pepper, and Wanda hadn’t asked why there were cookies, cakes, pies, cobblers, and other stuff appearing in their kitchens overnight. 

Learning to bake was a good way to spend time, and I liked it well enough. It distracted me from the time of day, and the day of the week, and what month it was. Time crept slower when it was measured in timers until I could taste or give away whatever I had made. 

It was a useful skill. Maybe I could bribe some UN representatives to not let me get locked in the Raft for the rest of my life with baked goods. Going free for the price of a few sleepless nights seemed like a good idea at this point. And if I didn’t go free, at least I would have countless recipes to recite while I rotted in prison.

And honestly, I was terrified if the sentence was anything other than the Raft. I knew what to expect then. Four months without a strictly enforced routine did not abate my anxiety toward the unknown. At least in missions I knew what to expect.

But Hydra isn’t good. They used me and it was wrong. 

“They used me and it was wrong,” I whispered to myself. I shook my head, turning back to kneading pie crust together. Apples were cooking in a pot on the stove. It was four in the morning. I had woken at two, screaming at a terror I couldn’t see clearly. 

It looked a lot like my own face in my blurry dream-vision. 

I recited the apple pie recipe in my head to get away from that thought. If I kneaded the dough for too long after it formed into a ball, it would be tough. I couldn’t get lost in thoughts with something like this. 

As soon as the dough was formed, I split in two, wrapped it in cling wrap, and put it in the fridge. I slid over to the stove and stirred the apples before the bottom of the large saucepan burnt. I had done that the first time I made this particular pie, about eight pies and two weeks ago. It was awful to clean out. 

I had time to sit after I took the apples off the stove and put them in the freezer to cool before the dough was ready. It was unnerving, and the music that was in the background before seemed to swell even though the volume hadn’t shifted. I tried to shift my timing every round through this pie to make up for it, but I was always left a few minutes with my thoughts. 

I didn’t want to think of the memory I had just regained. I didn’t want to think of the man with no name. So I didn’t. 

I glanced at the clock. 4:30. The sun would rise in less than three hours. Ms. Potts would be up in an hour and a half. Mr. Stark would be up around the same time. It was either that or he had never fallen asleep. I could relate to that, at least. 

I don’t know how or why I knew their schedules. It unnerved me slightly if I gave it too much thought. At least I didn’t know Vision and Wanda’s. I wasn’t around them nearly enough for that. 

My fingers tapped the countertop, desperate for something to do. I had hardly slowed down these past few months. An all-encompassing nervous energy that was getting increasingly difficult to shake had consumed me. Baking helped. Making loads of small Japanese Lucky Stars helped. Reading well-worn books, fictional or law, over and over until the words were burned behind my eyelids and I could recite them in my sleep helped too.

Those didn’t cover the small moments where I had to stay close and stay focused. Friday played music in these moments, but it was annoying to listen to or was too background to distract me. Or it lead me deeper, which tended to be much worse. Lots of songs were banned on one particularly bad day that I would rather forget. 

My trial was inching closer, but I had lost track of the days. Really, days of the week had been slightly irrelevant to me my whole life, which was divided into missions and training with day names as an afterthought. Now, however, my days were divided by weekdays, Friday, and weekends. 

Fridays counted as their own categories because Peter came over and that was the only time I was allowed to actually build things in the Lab. The rest of the days, if I wanted to go down, I could only code, which wasn’t bad, but I liked to build things. It settled my hands more than typing. Building was also slightly less frustrating than coding. I knew how to build. I was just learning to code. Still, coding a simple A.I. was interesting.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the timer I had set on the microwave going off, signalling that the pie dough chilled and was ready to be rolled out. 

I baked too much. And then I ate too much of the stuff I baked. Then again, I had gotten permission to use the Tower gym months ago, so it wasn’t all that bad. I wasn’t getting lazy. Being sedentary wasn’t fun. 

Ms. Potts had given me permission to use the gym. Honestly, the way both Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts treated me was an enigma. They allowed me to use the gym and the lab and have my own floor with more space than I could possibly ever take up. It was strange. They never forced me into talking or gave me anything to do other than clean up after myself, but that was easy. I could request to go up to the roof of the Tower and look out over the city and they didn’t have to worry, because I had my cuff (that more resembled a bracelet more than anything and that was strange too). 

They seemed to like me. Like me in a way that wasn’t for their own personal gain. I probably should have expected it. They were nothing like Doctor Galley, who probably liked me because I was interesting to study and could directly help her. 

Still. It was strange. 

Wanda and Vision were slightly aloof, and I couldn't blame them. They kept to themselves and I was thankful. I don’t think I could juggle five people instead of only three, one of which I only saw once a week.

Sometimes Wanda came up, and we talked about anything other than Hydra most of the time. Sometimes we did talk about Hydra, but it was always short-lived and she never stuck around long after that. Especially when I brought my sibling up one day. 

She looked sad, but said nothing, instead darting toward the elevator without saying goodbye.

She worried me slightly. She also had a trial soon after mine, but I couldn’t remember the day.

I didn’t really talk to Vision. Being around him for a long time gave me a headache for reasons I couldn’t explain, and there was always a faint buzzing around him. It was around Wanda too, but more subtle. 

The pie was in the oven by the time I pulled myself out of my thoughts. I didn’t remember doing it. I probably should have worried about that more. 

“Friday?” I said quietly. 

“Yes,” she said. I glanced up. I had no idea where the voice actually came from, but that’s where everyone else looked when talking to her.

“What day is it?” I feel that if Friday could have sighed, she would have. 

“It is Sunday, April 23rd, 2017,” she said.

My trial was on Thursday. Passing time with kitchen timers was not reliable nor time stopping.

I wish it was.

Not for the first time, I wished I had died all those months ago. I really didn’t care which instance it was to be honest. Dying seemed a lot better than having to answer for all the crimes I had committed. 

“Thanks Friday,” I whispered.

“Of course,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the first chapter. Lots of exposition right now, but we should be getting rolling in a couple chapters
> 
> Also, everything has been prewritten, I'm just in the process of rewriting, which I should have been doing while I dragged this update out a month (sorry about that by the way), but school has gone to shit and honestly, writing this took the backburner for a little while. So basically, I have a plan for the chapters, but I don't actually know how many there are going to be.
> 
> Also. WandaVision? Masterful.


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is late. I was busy and didn't get to post it until now.

Breakfast was always an interesting affair. 

I was always up by the time Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark got up and ready, so I waited for them in the kitchen. The first time I had done that, I scared Ms. Potts to death, which was a very strange phrase that came from her very alive mouth. 

By now, however, it had become a routine. I was up early baking, so I often made something small that could be eaten for breakfast. Ms. Potts came into the Penthouse kitchen a few minutes after I got there, made and ate breakfast, and then she went to work. Mr. Stark would come in a few minutes after Ms. Potts, down a probably unhealthy amount of coffee, eat a fruit or sometimes some of whatever I had brought, and then do whatever he did all day. 

This morning was no different.

After I made the apple pie, I made some blueberry muffins. They were easy and took a lot less time and energy than the pie, but were fun to make nonetheless. 

After I finished them, I put them on a plate and grabbed the law book I had stolen from the Law Floor. It was about as thick as my forearm was wide, and it was just unbalanced enough that I couldn’t hold it with one hand. It was annoying to tote around, but I hadn’t finished it yet. I had to finish it before my trial. 

I probably didn’t, but it was nice to think if I didn’t finish a law book in time, it would actually have an effect. 

I walked to the elevator, and it opened without me even having to ask. 

“To the Penthouse?” Friday asked.

“Yeah, thanks Friday,” I nodded. The elevator moved up, then stopped. The door opened.

The Penthouse was quiet and dark, just like it always was in the morning. The sky was grey on the horizon, but that made little difference in the lighting inside. The lights in the kitchen turned on as I walked in. 

I sat at one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, setting down the book with a dull thump and pushing the plate with the muffins across the counter for when everyone woke up. 

I sighed as I opened the book, skimming to find where I had stopped last. I had no time to waste. 

Ms. Potts woke up about 30 minutes later. Well, she was probably up earlier, as she was fully dressed, sans makeup, when she walked into the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Cori,” she greeted with a smile. I looked up from my book. 

“Morning,” I went back to reading as she puttered around the kitchen, making coffee and getting some Greek yogurt. I closed my book after a few minutes, head swimming with new terms I didn’t quite know what to do with. I grabbed a muffin from the plate and bit into it. Even though I had been up for several hours, I wasn’t all that hungry. Another reason not having a schedule threw me off: I wasn’t hungry when I needed to eat. 

The muffin was good, even if I wasn’t all that hungry for it. Having gotten her coffee and eaten half of her yogurt while waiting for it, Ms. Potts sat down next to me. She had to move the giant book I had been reading, but I didn’t mind it all that much. Honestly, I could do without its well-worn pages and almost indecipherable writing style right now. 

“Nervous?” she said with a chuckle, eying the lawbook and the blueberry muffin. 

“A little,” I said. As if I hadn’t been reading every law book I could get my hands on that applied to me. As if I hadn't been having nightmares and only getting two or three hours of sleep until I couldn’t figure out what day it was unless I asked Friday. Of course, I was only a little nervous. 

Ms. Potts must have seen past me, which wasn’t good considering I was supposed to be a master at hiding my emotions. 

“We have the best lawyers in the country working on this. I know the U.N. will see that you didn’t want to do any of what you did,” it was taboo to mention anything past that, “You’ll no doubt win the case,” 

I nodded. I knew all of that. I knew I had no reason to worry. But I couldn’t help but worry, and I couldn’t really do anything to stop that. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the what ifs. Ross would be in the room. What if he was able to sway them to throw me in the Raft? What if some UN representatives worked for Hydra, or were threatened into voting a certain way? What if winning the case was playing right into Hydra’s clutches? 

Ms. Potts must have sensed my worry, because it was the next thing she spoke about. 

“And I know that probably won’t make you any less worried, but that’s okay. It’s normal to be nervous,” I knew that, but my case was anything but normal. But Ms. Potts already knew that, and as she spoke, I could feel that she was worried too. 

Needless to say, we had bonded quite a bit over meals in the last few months. 

We ate in silence for a few minutes. I finished my muffin, but I didn’t really taste it after the first few bites. It would have been a waste to throw it away, even if I had absolutely no desire to finish it. Ms. Potts finished her bowl and put it in the sink. She started to walk out, but stopped before she left the kitchen and turned around. 

“If you do win the case, which I don’t doubt you will,” she added, “if you would like you could apply for the same school that Peter goes to,” 

“Um, yeah,” I said a little awkwardly. The statement surprised me, “Yeah, that would be really nice,” 

Peter had told me about school. From his stories, it sounded cool and really fun, but when I told him that, he just laughed. According to him, high school sucks most of the time, but it’s not that bad. Which really didn’t make sense, but I took it as something to consider. 

Ms. Potts smiled and walked back to her room to finish getting ready. I sat at the counter for a minute, still a little shocked by what I just witnessed. 

Me going to school? That didn’t sound so bad. 

Mr. Stark emerged from his room a couple of minutes after Ms. Potts left, fully dressed. Really, his eventual presence was better announced by the coffee machine, which started running a minute or two before he appeared. He still looked half asleep as he poured himself a mug of coffee and took a long drink of it. 

He puttered around the kitchen for a minute after that, getting breakfast I assumed. It seemed like he was indecisive, but ended up grabbing an apple from the fridge before sitting down. 

“Good morning,” I said. It was common knowledge not to speak to Mr. Stark before he had his coffee. 

“Morning,” Mr. Stark said before taking another sip of coffee. After he finished a sip, he said, “Ms. Stanford wants you to go down at three today,” 

I groaned. Ms. Stanford was the bug-eyed, quick-witted lawyer assigned to get information about me ready for the UN. There was nothing terrible about her, except for the fact that I just didn’t like her intense questioning. The “sessions” we had were long and tedious, and left me with headaches from memories I wasn’t allowed to remember at my own pace. 

She wanted excessive amounts of information about my time at Hydra, which made sense. If I had to prove my innocence, it was better to have all the information rather than spotty information that could draw the wrong conclusions, even if the wrong conclusions were very close to the truth. It was just the amount of information Ms. Stanford wanted was extremely excessive. It felt like she asked about events down to the minute with the amount of detail she wanted. 

However, it was a necessary evil. I could be going into this whole thing alone. I could be unprepared in a room full of UN representatives who likely had family or friends hurt in the events I caused, or were left to clean up the mess I had made. At least I could claim some sort of fragile innocence with Ms. Stanford. I was thankful for her in that respect. 

I didn’t like the fact she felt she had to dig into every aspect of my life though. 

Mr. Stark grabbed my book and leafed through it, grabbing a muffin with his other hand and putting it beside the apple. I looked on in something close to embarrassment. 

“I’m nervous,” I mumbled as an explanation. 

“You have a right to be, but I think everything will be okay. Once we have all your missions compiled, we can present you as a changed person and all that jazz. They brainwashed you, after all,” 

“Isn’t that a little manipulative?” Mr. Stark shrugged. 

“Yeah. Court is trying to make people believe what you believe, though. It’s the reason so many innocent people have been charged and so many guilty people have walked free,” I nodded. It seemed a lot like that, but I was not innocent. It seemed wrong for me to walk free after all that I had done. 

“But you shouldn’t worry. My lawyers are great at what they do, and then you’ll be able to present yourself in front of the UN. You’ll be fine,” Mr. Stark assured me. I could hear a bit of skepticism in his voice, though I could have just imagined it. 

We sat in silence for a few more minutes while Mr. Stark finished a few mugs of coffee, the muffin, and his apple. I turned the pages of my textbook, not really paying attention to the words that passed my eyes. 

“I’m going down to the lab,” Mr. Stark announced, standing up and heading to the elevator. I nodded. I probably needed a break, so I would follow him in a minute. I had to work on my project anyway. 

I waited until the elevator doors closed before packing up my textbook and walking to the elevator. I would need to drop it off before I went to the lab, otherwise there was a high probability that it would be burnt or torn or something out of the ordinary. I had gotten more than a few scalding looks a few weeks ago after I tried to bring back a textbook that was burnt around the edges. I really didn’t want to do that again.

Friday took me down to my floor, and then I went down to the lab after tying my hair up, even though there wasn’t much to put up. Wanda had offered to straighten it the other day, just to see how long it was when it wasn’t in coarse curls, but I was skeptical, so I said no. However, it could be useful for tying my hair up eventually. 

I practically ran back to the elevator. Mr. Stark had meetings yesterday, so I didn’t get to work on my project, which was not great. The project, making my own A.I., was fun and challenging and usually took my mind off of whatever was happening well enough, though building was still better for that and everything seemed to blend into the same moment over the past couple of weeks. Even so, Lab time was great.

Mr. Stark was blasting loud music when I walked in, but it turned down slightly when I walked in. It was livable, as usual. The music was one of the few things I didn’t like about the lab. At times, I stole Peter’s soundproofed headphones that were on “his” desk so that I could focus. 

But today, the music didn’t seem to be much of a problem. I was really excited to be back with Gale again and be able to work on him. 

Gale was my A.I., named Gale because, you know, air, but also because I was shown the Hunger Games a little before Mr. Stark gave me the okay to make him, and Gale Hawthorne was oddly attractive. And it was a little more subtle than naming an A.I. Katniss or Peeta.

Mr. Stark had told me if I wanted I could program him and then integrate him into a watch when I was finished, and I thought it would be a fun challenge. It was a little difficult to say the least, because I was basically building from the ground up.

It had been weeks, and I had made the bare minimum progress. He was just speaking as of two days ago, but he had zero personality or knowledge. His voice was one of the generic, emotionless, robot voices, nothing like the likes of Friday. I hoped I could program him to talk like Friday someday. It would feel more normal to talk to a robot that sounded like a human than a robot that was distinctly robot. 

I needed a little help from Mr. Stark at first, just to get the basics of A.I. building under my belt. But now I had to set up patterns to teach him how to identify them and learn. That would probably be the most tedious part. He wasn’t prepared enough for me to give him anything off of the internet, so I had to give him shapes and colors. That was possibly the most boring part of this entire process. 

My favorite part about working on Gale was just thinking about Gale. When I was thinking about him, learning his code like the back of my hand, and teaching him new things, I didn’t worry about anything else. Not about my trial, not about Ms. Stanford, not about nightmares and living off of a couple hours of sleep. 

But then I was thinking about all of those things again. About the blood that stained my hands. And the children I killed because I didn’t know any better. I didn’t want to know the reasoning behind the murders or what type of mutant each child was, or what their parents had done to betray Hydra. I let my head lay against the table. I just needed to think about something else. Something nice. 

Christmas. The twinkling lights and tree. Sitting on the couch and watching a movie with all the people I had met the month before. Working in the Lab with Mr. Stark and Peter. How we were sometimes silent and other times spoke out with jokes and laughs. Cooking, however successfully, with Wanda and Vision. Making a good soup and then promptly setting the kitchen on fire while making cookies. Making up a language with Ada, M, and Kae. Braiding hair and stitching up small wounds. 

Making those cuts on my siblings. Guns, knives, and fists. Blood spilled on the training room floor. 

I shook my head and bit my tongue. 

_ They forced me to do those things,  _ I thought,  _ They used me and it was wrong. They used me and it was wrong.  _

That didn’t mean I was innocent. 

I shook my head once more, as if that would clear my thoughts and put my hands back on the keyboard. I had better things to focus on than my past.


	4. III

I shut my eyes for two minutes, head down on the desk, and the next thing I know, Dum-E is gently shaking me awake, causing a thin blanket to fall from my shoulders. I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, surprised that I hadn’t had any nightmares. 

Maybe it was because I was sitting up, or just the uncomfortable position in general. I would have to try that later. Maybe I would get more sleep sitting at a desk than laying in a bed.

Dum-E chirped cheerfully as I looked over at the clock. I had about ten minutes to get downstairs before I had to meet with Ms. Stanford. I groaned again. For every day for the past month or so, she wanted to meet. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just got annoying really quickly.

I stood up and stretched. The music wasn’t on, but Mr. Stark was still in the Lab, working away at one of his Iron Man suits. The clang of metal on metal gave it away pretty quickly. I checked in one of the mirrors around the lab to make sure I looked presentable, then gave Mr. Stark a quick wave that I doubt he saw and walked out of the Lab. 

The elevator ride was over far too quickly for my taste, as I soon arrived on the Law floor. There were a couple people milling around, printing things out and chatting with other people, but most of the small amount of people that worked here were in their enclosed, glass cubicles. I dashed over to Ms. Stanford’s cubicle, hoping not to be seen by many people, but I could feel their stares through the windows. Though they were lawyers, the people here were human and had opinions, and most of their opinions on me were not in my favor. Ms. Stanford was one of the few people here that would look me in the eye. 

I announced myself with a knock. Ms. Stanford looked up from her computer, reading glasses perched on her nose. 

“Cori,” she said, “Come in, sit down,” I pulled up a chair on the opposite side of her desk as she tinted the cubicle windows so no one could see in. I was thankful for whoever thought of that. It was a lot easier to feel less paranoid if people couldn’t stare at you in the first place. 

“So, starting from where we left off yesterday,” Ms. Stanford started looking down at a couple handwritten notes on her desk, “Let’s start with March and April 2017,” She looked up at me expectantly, and luckily, I had remembered some of these events the day before. I could have gotten this taken care of yesterday, but I remembered just after I had left this floor, which had been more than slightly annoying.. 

“You know about Project Insight, correct?” I asked her. She gave a stiff nod, so I continued. 

“It needed quite a few people to coordinate it and cover it up once it was all said and done, so during those months I collected former agents and recruited new ones in order for the project to go smoothly. But then Captain America got involved, and it all went south on Hydra’s end,” My stomach dropped slightly when I thought of the memory I had acquired earlier. That had been it. This had been that.

Ms. Stanford nodded and wrote down a few notes as I spoke. 

“Was anyone killed during these two months?” I nodded, a sour taste rising in my mouth. 

“Do you know about how many?” Her pencil was poised and ready to write down my answer. I never enjoyed answering for the lives I had taken, but it was necessary. Still, the fact that the people I had killed had family and friends that mourned them left a foul taste in my mouth. And I could relate to it more than ever now. 

“Seven,” I said. Ms. Stanford wrote it down. 

“What about November 2014?” I simply shook my head. That moment in time had remained forgotten for weeks. It was annoying, because whenever she mentioned that time, I could feel a memory itching at the back of my mind. Close, but always slightly out of reach. 

She made a note of that too. 

“What about May 2016?”

“After the whole Avengers deal in Lagos and Siberia, I helped Hydra agents get further underground so they would be more protected,” that was all I was going to say, but a tinge in my head brought a new part of the memory, “and almost got killed for my efforts,” 

~~~

_ The early summer heat was blistering, especially inside the apartment. I had to get a few agents past the police and others who knew of their identities without getting them or myself killed. And that would not be easy. Everyone was out for the agents’ blood.  _

_ I turned back to the small group in the safe house. There were four people. Four people to spot for and watch out for. Four bullets to avoid. I sighed. This would have been difficult enough with one person, let alone four.  _

_ “There is a car arranged to pick us up here,” I spoke in English, pointing to a point just outside the city, “Our problem will be getting there in time. There will be a thirty-minute window where a van will wait for us, starting at two in the morning. Taking a car would be too dangerous and a perfect way to trap us, because I have sources that say both the police and certain gangs out for your blood are monitoring roadways out of here at all times,”  _

_ I sighed, looking back to the group. _

_ “In conclusion, the best way out of the city is through walking. We would have to leave at nine, if not earlier, to get to the spot on time, unless you all would like to wait another week for a van,” _

_ The agents amongst themselves. One, a blonde woman, spoke up.  _

_ “Listen, I know you are trained for this and all, but why would they send us a ten-year-old to get us out of here,” I frowned.  _

_ “I’m less conspicuous, a crack shot, and your best bet. I doubt anyone else would help you in that way,”  _

_ One agent snorted.  _

_ “What the hell. I’ll do whatever you say, you funky little kid,” The other agents made murmurs of agreement, or at least I hope it was agreement. I nodded stiffly. The sun was already sinking low on the horizon. I still had to brief them a little more before dark.  _

_ Night had fallen. _

_ My stomach twisted as we left the safe house. I didn’t want it to seem like I was leading the way, so I had given directions to all of them, while placing myself in the middle of the crowd. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter many people on the streets at this time of night.  _

_ After about three hours of walking, we approached the outside of the city. It was either go on the monitored main road, or go off the road with the possibility of getting lost in the dense woods on the outskirts. We had agreed on going through the woods, but they looked black and ominous and full of dangers, not to mention hidden people. The road seemed a lot more appealing under the cover of darkness.  _

_ My companions seemed to think the same thing. We were all slightly skittish as we entered the woods. We didn’t pull out any flashlights, but the full moon above us lit the way through the tree canopy. I drew my gun and moved to the front of the group. It was of utmost importance that we arrive on time, unless we wanted to trudge back and wait another week.  _

_ We encountered nothing after about an hour. We were walking at a quick pace, so we would probably arrive ahead of time as long as we didn’t run into any problems. The night birds chirped softly above us and the wind rustled the branches above us. All was well.  _

_ Until the birds stopped singing. I stopped the group and motioned for them to pull out their guns if they hadn’t already. There was a small rustle from the underbrush to the left of us.  _

_ I pricked my ears up, trying to determine if it was just an animal or something we should be more worried about. There were two distinct footsteps from the left. And another two to the right. And in front of us, and behind.  _

_ We were completely and utterly trapped.  _

_ “They’ve trapped us,” I whispered so only my comrades could hear. I immediately felt them stiffen and draw their guns in every direction. Which is when chaos reigned.  _

_ Gun shots came from every direction. I tried to block most of them, creating an invisible wall around us as we ran, but I knew it wouldn’t be effective for long. If anything, it would only slow down the bullets, not bring them to a complete stop.  _

_ As I thought this, I heard a few grunts. We all had body armor on, so slowed bullets probably wouldn’t leave much of a problem, but each grunt pained me. I would be punished for each of them, I knew.  _

_ We couldn’t shoot any bullets back because of the shield, so I put my gun away and hoped the others followed suit.  _

_ I estimated we ran about two miles before we stopped. At this point. We were probably about a twenty-minute walk out from where our meeting point was. I checked the small wrist watch I was given for this mission. We still had about forty minutes before the van was to be in place, so we would have to wait around for about twenty.  _

_ I sighed. If worse came to worse, we would probably be ambushed yet again. We would just have to find out. I turned back to the group. They looked physically fine, save for a few scratches on their faces and rips in their clothes.  _

_ “Is everyone okay? We are about twenty minutes out,” I said.  _

_ “I’ll have some bruises, but yeah, fine,” said one man. I held back my surprise. This man was so relaxed about everything. I expected more of a response. From all of them, really. But they just nodded along. _

_ I nodded back and continued to walk. _

_ As I guessed, it took about twenty more minutes to get to the rendezvous point. We stopped next to one of the largest trees I had ever seen. It was twisted and gnarled and certainly recognizable, even if you hadn’t seen it before.  _

_ And so we waited there for the next twenty or so minutes. I let the agents relax against the tree while I stood guard. There was nothing other than the rustling of wind against the branches and the slight singing of birds. I wanted to allow myself to relax and enjoy the night air, but I had a duty. I had to protect these people.  _

_ Soon enough, we spied a Hydra van in the distance, black against the night. I looked out over the road, but was quickly pulled back in by one agent. It was the man who was relaxed about the bruises and bullets from earlier.  _

_ He held a gun against my shoulder and shot it. A bright burning pain erupted from the bullet hole. I tried not to flinch, but ended up fruitlessly grasping at the hole. The man’s hand was still over it. I didn’t feel any blood on my back though. The body armor must have stopped it from going all the way through. I breathed a sigh of relief for that.  _

_ “If you tell anyone, I’ll make sure you die next time. Got it,” the man hissed. I nodded numbly, not knowing what I was agreeing to or why he had shot me in the first place. He gave a stiff nod and let me go. I fell back with a gasp, trying to put pressure on the wound. The others only glanced toward me as I fell. I could hear shouts in the distance and a familiar voice saying something along the lines of “She was shot.”  _

_ I groaned inwardly. Bullet wounds were really a bitch to deal with, but I rarely dealt with life-threatening ones. He must have struck pretty close to an artery, because blood was already soaking my hand and dripping down my front.  _

_ I didn’t realize I had fallen onto my back until I was being picked up by hands that were anything but gentle. I was roughly shoved into the back of a van where I hit my head on the leg of a bench, effectively knocking me out.  _

_ When I woke again, M was over me. I tried to sit up, but my shoulder exploded in pain, sentencing me to lay still on the cot yet again. _

_ “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that,” he said softly in our own language.  _

_ “What happened?” I asked. He shrugged.  _

_ “You came back from a mission and they said you had been shot. They patched you up, but if it is not bandaged and cleaned properly, it will get an infection,” I nodded. He picked up a washcloth from a bowl. _

_ “It must be annoying,” I said as he pushed my shirt off my shoulder and took the bloody bandages off. He then wiped the wound with water. I winced. It stung slightly, but was over soon. _

_ “What?” _

_ “Taking care of me,” M shrugged and placed a new bandage on my shoulder.  _

_ “It’s not annoying when it’s you,”  _

_ ~~~ _

Ms. Stanford kept on writing things as I spoke. My head ached slightly as I remembered one event, but I didn’t share anything with her. It usually went like that. I spoke, she wrote, I would get a headache, she would ask if I killed anyone. 

“Was anyone killed during those series of missions?” she asked, right on schedule. 

I shook my head. The only person injured while I was helping agents get out of dangerous situations was myself. All because I trusted a person I had just met a few hours before. Wow, I was an idiot. 

“And, for the last one, what about September 2017?”

It took me a minute or two to recall anything worthwhile. And even then, it was just vague flashes that caused my head to ache more than it did before. 

“Just a few things. I’m pretty sure it was an uneventful month. I accompanied a few agents to London disguised as a civilian,” That was all I could pick up from the memories that accompanied my words. 

_ ~~~ _

_ The agents’ faces were not memorable, which I guess was the whole point. I was posing as their daughter, which happened a bit too often for my liking. I didn’t have a choice though, so I obeyed and tried my hardest to complete my mission.  _

_ The car ride was silent. I had nothing to do but stare out the window and finger my gun that I had to have, just in case.  _

_ The boat ride across the English Channel was short and uneventful. I couldn’t have my gun out, so I stalked around the ferry deck, following wherever the plainclothes agents went. No one was threatened. The weather was particularly warm that day.  _

_ Hydra collected me as soon as the agents reached their destination.  _

_ ~~~ _

After I finished speaking and Ms. Stanford stopped taking notes, she looked over her glasses with her bug eyes and spoke. 

“I think we have all we need to represent you in the trial, so I’ll just have you come back on Wednesday to talk about what you should say and prepare for,” I nodded, trying not to look relieved about not having to come here for two days. 

“Wonderful. I will see you on the 25th then? Same time as today?” I nodded again. She smiled back. If there was one thing I had learned about Giovanna Stanford is that she loved to talk.

“Lovely,” she said with a smile. She grabbed a remote and cleared the windows once more. I opened the door. 

“Thank you,” I called back with a slight smile. She smiled back and waved. I closed the door behind me and walked with a straight spine to the elevator, praying I wouldn’t have to wait long for it. It was enough to be in Ms. Stanford’s presence for an hour. I wasn’t in the mood to be stared at with disgust behind my back by her coworkers. 

Luckily, the elevator came within seconds. As soon as I was inside, I slumped down against the side of the elevator with a long sigh. 

“Can you take me to my floor Friday?” I asked, knowing she was probably taking me there already.

“Of course Cori,” the A.I. responded. A few seconds later, the door opened to my floor. I made a beeline for the cookies. I felt like shit and cookies were good.

After I grabbed a few and a plate, I sat down to eat and reflect on my situation. I seemed to do a lot of that lately: reflection. And eating really, but not necessarily at the same time. 

And sure, my situation wasn’t ideal, but it was better than any alternative. I could be thrown in The Raft with no explanation or trial or back at Hydra. Or dead. 

And besides, the UN had never associated my face with any tragedy I may or may not have caused. All they had known was a faceless organization with equally faceless assets, such as the Winter Soldier. But honestly, it was a miracle he stayed secret all those years. Also, while I was one of Hydra’s assets, I had harmed no one on the UN outright, or had even been accused of it, unlike the Winter Soldier. 

I don’t really envy Wanda either. While I had to present myself as a changed person, I doubt anyone had formed an opinion on me. Wanda had to beg for forgiveness and present herself as a responsible person. Not to mention, it’s being broadcasted all over the world. Because my trial is extra secret, my case isn’t being aired. Maybe it is because I’m a minor, though. That could be a plausible reason as well. 

So, the conclusion? My case definitely could have been worse. And I had a top-notch lawyer on my side. Everyone I had talked to was sure I would win. 

But again, it definitely could be much worse. And that was all I had to focus on for now. 

_ Everything’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually gross, but that's what I get for copy pasting old writing because I don't care to rewrite things the day it's supposed to be posted.   
> The good news is that the next chapter /should/ be the court trial and things will begin to pick up after that, so stick around. It's going to get crazy in a little while, trust me!


	5. IV

Thursday came too quickly. 

I woke up five hours before I needed to with a swoop in my stomach and a sense of foreboding that this day might not go as planned. I tried to push those feelings away, but the paranoia left a strange taste in my mouth that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times I brushed my teeth. And I brushed my teeth at least ten times. 

I got in the shower a couple hours later to further distract myself and also because I needed one. It wasn’t great, being alone with my thoughts, though. The more I thought, the more I worried. The more I worried, the more I felt like I needed to throw up. And I really would not like the throw up this morning. 

My hands also began to shake as I tried to comb my hair out. It was annoying. I kept on stabbing my head, or missing a knot. Or worse yet, pull a knot entirely too hard. But much to my shaking hands dismay, I got my hair all brushed out without too much trouble. 

I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. Honestly, I looked like a stiff wind would knock me off my feet. I was frail and exhausted. There were dark circles under my eyes from long nights and early mornings. The worry had overtaken me last night and I hadn’t been able to get down a bit of dinner in fear that I would throw it all up later. 

There was only one good thing about my appearance and that was my nails. Wanda had called me down to her floor last night and helped me paint them. They were a light blue, almost purple, that went nicely with my plain grey suit. Both Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts and everyone else who were roped into the conversation insisted I could not wear a dress and I had to agree with them. I had worn a dress twice since Christmas and hated every single moment I had to spend in it. So I was happy with wearing the suit. 

I put on a white button up before carefully putting on the suit. If I had to take a guess, it was pretty nice for a suit, but I didn’t have any other suit to compare it to. I appreciated it. It was much better than a dress. 

I checked myself over once more in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. I didn’t look bad, and from a distance you wouldn’t be able to tell I had barely gotten any sleep in days and looked dead. Part of me hoped that the U.N. would be able to see the amount of anxiety and stress I had been carrying these past few months, but if they did I doubted they would care very much. 

I walked out of my room and to the elevator. I wanted to eat, but my stomach was turning over and over. I doubted I could keep anything down if I tried. 

But it was courtesy. And I didn’t want Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts to bother coming down to my floor. I told them that they didn’t have to come to the trial and could just have someone drop me off. If I was charged they wouldn’t have to bring me home. But they insisted. Apparently they were invested. Whatever that meant. 

When I arrived at the Penthouse, Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts were already up and about the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” I said, announcing my arrival. The adults looked up from what they were doing, Mr. Stark from staring at the toaster and Ms. Potts from her tablet. 

“Morning kiddo,” Mr. Stark said before the toaster popped. He grabbed the bread out of the toaster. I sat down a seat away from Ms. Potts. She studied my face. 

“Friday said you weren’t getting a lot of sleep,” she said, as if that wasn’t the thing I most desperately did not want to hear. I glared at the ceiling. Friday didn’t have a body, which made it very hard when I wordlessly wanted to be mad at her. I couldn’t stare at anything except for where her voice came from. 

“I’ve been stressed lately. I’ll get more sleep once this is all over,” I replied. Dear God I hoped so. I couldn’t survive much longer like this. 

Ms. Potts nodded, but she didn’t look so convinced. She glanced at Mr. Stark, who was still buttering the toast he made. He didn’t seem to have heard the small conversation. 

He turned around with a plate with a piece of buttered toast on it and put it in front of me, munching on his own piece. 

“Try to eat a little bit,” he said. I nodded slightly, even though I really didn’t want to. My stomach felt like it was all twisted and knotted up, like even if I swallowed something it wouldn’t fully reach my stomach. But I still nibbled on the piece of toast while Mr. Stark spoke.

“They want us there by 11. Opening statements will be at 11:30 and they would like to come to a decision before 2,” he said before taking a drink of coffee. I nodded, standing up to grab a glass of water. I had barely taken a bite of toast, but the water was nice. unfortunately, it couldn’t settle my nerves. 

We left at ten for the U.N. headquarters. I had started twisting my hands together in interesting shapes, which I knew was annoying for everyone, including me. We rode through the late morning traffic silently. I ran different questions representatives might ask me through my head and came up with answers for them. I worried who would be there and who wouldn’t and the probability of how others would react if I used different ways of saying things. I knew I probably wouldn't remember all that I thought about on the way here while on the stand, but it was comforting to think about right now. 

We got there a couple minutes before eleven and were directed to a bench next to the General Assembly room. 

And for more than 30 minutes, we waited. It was terrible and terrifying and by far one of the most nerve wracking things I have ever done. I twisted my fingers around until it hurt to move them, which probably wasn’t a good thing. And then I quietly tapped my feet until Ms. Potts put a hand on my knee, signalling me to stop. I sighed quietly. 

But eventually, finally, I was invited into the Assembly room and directed to sit in the front. My back was to all the people, but I still felt the stares. I was exposed. All I wanted to do was curl up under the table and hide there until everyone was gone. But it was time to face the music. 

Ms. Stanford slid in next to me with a worried look on her face. That was not good. Someone as perfectly put together as Ms. Stanford should not look worried unless something was really wrong. I resisted the urge to twist my fingers again. 

A stiff faced woman with salt and pepper hair walked up to the microphone at the very front of the room and started to speak, staring at me with a disgusted look on her face.

“We were all called here today for the trial of Corentine Stewart, otherwise known as The Storm, whose crimes include international murder and terrorism, illegal boarder crossings, arson, and assasination. She served Hydra, an underground criminal organization that was believed to be disbanded. I invite the United States delegate Colby Miller to the stand for a few more words,”

I swallowed. I doubt that if this woman voted it would be in my favor. I could only hope that others would be a bit more open minded. Or I could change their minds. I didn’t particularly want to go to the Raft after all. 

The United States delegate went on first, describing a few of the crimes I had committed on U.S. soil, but then wrapping up by saying that he didn’t believe I was really to blame for my crimes, as I was basically a puppet for Hydra. Others however were less forgiving, blaming me for every single crime and demanding I face criminal punishment. And they had a right to. I was half convinced that they were correct in their reasoning, even if I didn’t really want to go through all that they offered. 

After about an hour and a half of testimonies and opinions, I was invited to speak. My stomach gave a strange flip and I almost stumbled as I walked to the stand. I had to lower the microphone in order to speak into it. 

“Ms. Stewart, is it true that you committed several crimes against humanity whilst working for Hydra?” The spokeswoman said. 

“It is,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I was pretty sure I failed. 

“Do you have an excuse for yourself?” the same woman said. I took a deep breath before answering, trying to remember what Ms. Stanford and I talked about. I glanced over at the woman in question. She nodded for me to continue. 

“I was born there and groomed to be who I was from a very young age. My earliest missions were given to me when I was two years old, and I remember almost every single one of them to the day. I regret every single one of them now, but then it was a matter of survival. And if not mine, then that of my siblings.”

“Furthermore, I am only just remembering all of my missions. After many missions, I was made to forget them, whether it be by using my trigger words or through more… inhumane acts. Looking back on all of my crimes I find myself guilty of, I would not have committed any of them if I knew the consequences of them,” 

I took a deep breath and glanced back at Ms. Stanford. She nodded with a small smile. But it wasn’t over yet. 

“We will now have questions from the delegates,” the spokeswoman said. I nodded. 

“You spoke of siblings. How exactly were they used against you or you used against them,” a man with heavily accented English asked. I knew exactly where this question would lead, but I couldn’t refuse. 

“The safety of both myself and my siblings were constantly threatened by death or extreme punishments if we failed to complete missions, whether they be alone or in pairs. We were constantly pitted against each other in training to the point of us hurting each other. If one of us failed, another was punished,”

“How many siblings did you have,” this woman must have been thinking ahead. 

“There were five of us in total,” a few murmurs echoed out in the crowd. They had read my file, they knew who my parents were, and they were doing the math. 

“Do you know what happened to them?” the same woman asked. I was expecting the question eventually, but I really hoped it wouldn’t come this early. I breathed in a few halting breaths, willing myself not to panic and see their deaths, before answering. 

“They are all dead,” I clasped my hands and twisted my fingers together, not caring that it hurt. It kept me grounded and I really didn’t want to have a panic attack in front of all of these people. 

Thankfully, they moved on. Either because they got bored or saw my reaction. I was happy. Well, not happy. Appreciative. I didn’t want to think about that. 

From there, they moved on to different aspects of Hydra, who I worked under and gave me my orders (Doctor Galley and Agent Durus mostly, but both of those people were probably dead), what training sessions looked like, (lots of physical fighting, against my siblings and then against trained Hydra agents), locations (I was never allowed to know the exact location of any bases, but there was one about two hours out from Stark Tower on a Thursday morning), how often did you use your powers (not that often really), was there a designated leader (yes, he hated my existence and tried to kill me, but I don’t know his name), and more questions from there on. At some point, I was pretty sure it turned into more of a questioning rather than a criminal trial. My crimes were already listed, but I had made it clear that I could change. I just hoped it would be enough to convince people. 

After a while, the questions slowed down and eventually stopped. I was told to sit down once again. I was thankful. The constant talking and explaining myself was becoming tiring. 

The spokeswoman walked up to the stand once more. 

“Do we have any more questions or testimonies?” when no one answered, she spoke again this time to me, “If you would leave the room please,” 

I nodded and walked out as nonchalantly as I could. Thankfully, I didn’t trip or accidentally get slammed by the heavy door walking out. 

Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts were sitting on the bench still. A few cups of water and coffee sat on the bench; so they hadn’t been sitting there the whole time. 

“How’d it go?” Ms. Potts whispered. 

“Good,” I whispered back, “They spoke and then asked me some questions. Those weren’t great, but I’m alive,” Ms. Potts nodded.

We waited in silence for about ten minutes. I started to tap my foot again, but Ms. Potts didn’t stop me this time. I could hear a muted and muddled voice from inside the room, but couldn’t make out any words. 

Soon however, the door opened once again, revealing Ms. Stanford. She motioned me inside with a small smile. Unless she secretly wanted me to get charged, I assumed that was a good thing. 

I slid back into my seat and waited for the spokeswoman to speak. My stomach turned as I waited. The words spoken here would determine my entire life. Eventually, the spokeswoman cleared her throat, looked down at her paper, and started to speak. 

“Since your actions and crimes were committed under duress, the U.N. has officially decided to pardon you. However, you are required to see a therapist of the U.N.’s list of licensed therapists for this occasion, and get a waiver from said therapist before being able to go in public. You will also have to receive an evaluation from said therapist every month for two years. Said evaluation will go to a council of U.N. delegates for review. If you are involved in any illegal activity, commit any crimes, or go against the current Sokovia Accords, the pardon will be numb and void and you will be sentenced to the Raft for an unspecified amount of time. Do you understand these terms?” the woman looked up at me over the tops of her reading glasses. 

“I do,” I said with an earnest nod. 

“Then we are finished,” She dismissed.

People started to shuffle papers and get up from their seats. I dashed to the door to tell Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts. They looked up as soon as the door opened. 

“I was pardoned,” I said with a wide smile on my face. The both stood up. 

“See, we knew you would,” Ms. Potts said, patting my shoulder with a smile. 

“I bet you did great,” Mr. Stark said. 

“She certainly did,” said a voice from behind us. I turned. 

Ms. Stanford stood outside the door, holding a thick, professional looking folder with the U.N. stamp on it’s back. 

“She was very professional and detailed when she answered the questions,” she continued, handing the folder to Ms. Potts, “Those are the official details,”

“Thank you,” I said. She smiled. 

“You are most certainly welcome,” she said. She gave a small wave and walked away. 

By the time she left, U.N. delegates were walking out of the conference room. Most were ignoring me, which was all well and good, but others took the time to congratulate me. And others, not so much. 

The spokeswoman who didn’t seem to like me stopped in front of me. 

“You did very well today. I will be keeping an eye on you,” she said. The compliment was hidden under a tone of disgust. I was thankful when she walked off, but I didn’t really care. I couldn't get everyone to like me, even if I was normal and didn’t just have a criminal trial in front of the U.N.. 

But I was free. I was really free

I felt almost light. It was an amazing feeling that I had never felt before, and rightfully so. I was free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is ooc but I don't care. It's late and I really need to prewrite and edit chapters. As soon as I get into the plot, I'll be writing chapters from scratch but Part One is basically a small Part One of my draft, so old writing yay!
> 
> New Thing: I now have an Instagram for this sort of stuff bc I have no clue how to work tumblr sorry. I'll be posting about updates and new stories, so if that interests you, my @ is @530_and_some_fandoms


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